Monthly Archives: May 2016

This week we are featuring Erotic Romance author Di Storm. Lets hear from her directly about her favorite cocktail:

“My favorite cocktail is Long Island Ice Tea, until I discover something new.”

Ingredients:

½ fluid ounce vodka

½ fluid ounce rum

½ fluid ounce gin

½ fluid ounce tequila

½ fluid ounce triple sec (orange-flavored liqueur)

1 fluid ounce sweet and sour mix

1 fluid ounce cola, or to taste

1 lemon slice

Fill a cocktail shaker with ice. Pour vodka, rum, gin, tequila, triple sec, and sour mix over ice; cover and shake. Pour cocktail into a Collins or hurricane glass; top with splash of cola for color. Garnish with a lemon slice.

Now that we heard from the author, lest grab a glass of this delicious sounding Long Island Ice Tea, kick back and relax while learning more about Di Storm’s new release: Yes Sir! available fromAmazon, Barnes & Noble, or directly fromGreen Ivy Publishing.

TEASER

A world of intrigue and deception. Underworld clubs with high-profile members. A powerful circle of friends, and strangers, who meet in select places where one must know the hidden path in

Early in her adult life, Jessika finds herself attracted to men who are more dominant: controlling, forceful, her superior. And somewhere down her path of exploring sensual feelings, it all falls into place—she needs a master, a man she can serve in every way. But the further she delves into the world of domination, the more she realizes a part of her is still empty.

Surprisingly, Jessika finds that missing ingredient in a man who is anything but dominant. He is a cockold—a man who finds eroticism in watching enjoy herself with others but knowing that she isn’t getting pleasure from him.

Yes, Sir is a journey of lost love, lost connections, and the struggle for self-control. Jessika finds herself experiencing drastic changes deep within. The reserved, quiet, and submissive person she once was—fading. She is becoming stronger, more vocal, and dominant, standing up for herself, and others. These changes create a roller coaster of conflict within, a transitioning woman who struggles with an ever-present and seemingly contradictory need to be controlled and mastered.

Yes, Sir is an erotic, sensual, and emotional journey, bringing you to places you did not believe truly existed—but they do!

Like this:

This week we are featuring M/M Contemporary Romance author Andrew Grey. Lets hear from him directly about his favorite cocktail:

I have to admit that I’m not much of a drinker. My favorite drink is a Cosmopolitan. I love the tanginess of the lime and the slight sweetness from the cranberry juice.

The ladies from Dreamspinner introduced me to them when we were in New York a number of years ago for Book Expo America. There’s a French restaurant on restaurant row that we always went to each year and they make the very best Cosmos.

Ingredients:

1/2 oz Fresh lime juice,

1 oz Cranberry juice,

1/2 oz Cointreau,

1 1/2 oz Vodka Citron

Add all ingredients into cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake well and double strain into large cocktail glass. Garnish with lime wheel.

Now that we heard from the author, lest grab a glass of this delicious sounding Cosmopolitan, kick back and relax while learning about Andrew’s new release, available today!

Fisher Moreland has been cast out of his family because they can no longer deal with his issues. Fisher is bipolar and living day to day, trying to manage his condition, but he hasn’t always had much control over his life and self-medicated with whatever he could find.

JD Burnside has been cut off from his family because of a scandal back home. He moved to Carlisle, but brought his Southern charm and warmth along with him. When he sees Fisher on a park bench on a winter’s night, he invites Fisher and his friends for a late-night meal.

At first Fisher doesn’t know what to make of JD, but he slowly comes out of his shell. And when Fisher’s job is threatened because of a fire, JD’s support and care is more than Fisher ever thought he could expect. But when people from Fisher’s past turn up in town at the center of a resurgent drug epidemic, Fisher knows they could very well sabotage his budding relationship with JD.

Fisher knew it was probably best if he walked back home. It was only going to get colder, but he wanted to sit a little while longer. He knew he was being dumb, but this was the place where he’d met JD, and he was hoping JD might want to talk again or something. He didn’t have his number. He knew he was a police officer, but that was all. They’d met here in the square, so he wanted to see if JD would walk by again.

Another police car passed the square. This one slowed, made the turn at the square, and then the turn behind the square toward the Gingerbread Man bar. Fisher followed it with his eyes, and when the car pulled to a stop, he waited to see if the officer got out. Of course, when he did it wasn’t JD, but Fisher did recognize Red. He figured this was his chance. So he got up and wandered over.

“Fisher?” Red asked as he approached.

“Hi, Red.” He flashed a smile.

“We got a report of someone soliciting. Have you seen anything?” Red asked.

“A guy came through, black kid, asked if I wanted something to make me happy. When I said I didn’t, he moved on.” Fisher spoke softly. “He was missing a front tooth but looked all right otherwise.” Fisher took a step back at Red’s stormy look. “I don’t do none of that anymore,” spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Not that I did a lot, but I was pretty messed up. I told him no, and he walked over toward the side street beside the church.”

“He isn’t going to find any business there,” Red said, then made a call in a police code of some sort. Just as he did, the guy raced out of the alley, tails of his coat flying, with JD on his heels. JD ran like the wind, strides long and fluid. Fisher couldn’t take his eyes off him even as Red got back in the car and drove away, sirens blaring. The noise bounced off the facades of the buildings, echoing from all directions and overlapping until it felt like a drill in Fisher’s head, but he didn’t look away until JD tackled the man to the ground. That was the last he saw because Red’s car pulled up, blocking the view.

Fisher waited and watched the activity in the surrounding area, wondering if he could go over under the guise of seeing what was going on and maybe catch JD’s eye, but he was working, and Fisher wasn’t really interested in the drug dealer seeing him speaking with the police. No use asking for trouble. So he went back to his bench and sat down, the cold instantly seeping through his clothes. Maybe it would be best if he went home, he thought again. He could be alone in his own apartment just as well as he could here, and it was warmer too.

But Fisher stayed where he was anyway and watched the officers as they loaded the man into the back of the police car, which Red drove away. Fisher expected JD to go as well, but he saw him still standing on the sidewalk. JD looked from side to side, then crossed the street at a jog.

“Hi, Fisher,” JD said as he approached.

“Officer,” Fisher said formally, wondering what kind of stop this was. He liked JD; he was a nice guy. But he still wasn’t sure what the deal was, and he’d already learned the hard way that hope could be a dangerous thing.

“What are you doing out here?” JD asked gently. “It’s too cold to be sitting on a bench. You’ll get sick, and then where will you be?”

“I needed to get out of the house.” It sounded lame even to his ears, but he wasn’t going to say he’d been sitting out there hoping to see JD. “I saw you running after that guy. You’re fast.” JD began walking toward the street, and as if JD had a string tied to him, Fisher followed right along. “Isn’t it too cold for you to be out too? Don’t they give you a car or something?”

“Yeah, they do, but I had to catch the suspect, and Red said you could identify him. Said he tried to sell to you.”

Fisher shook his head. “He approached me, but in that way they have that can be denied. Nothing solid, just the usual wink and nudge.”

JD nodded. “He had stuff on him, so we got him for possession.”

“There’s been a lot of activity recently,” Fisher said. He sat on his bench often enough and knew what to look for, so he saw plenty of guys approaching folks, leading them away to make deals, stuff like that. “How late do you work?”

“Late,” JD said, and Fisher nodded, lowering his gaze as they headed along the sidewalk. It took him about two minutes to realize that JD was walking him home.

“You know, I’ll be okay on my own. I’m not anyone that these guys are going to bother with.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and positioned them against his body for warmth.

“Why do you say that like that?” JD asked.

Fisher stopped and shrugged. “It’s just the way it is. I’m one of those guys who sits on a bench in the square because he has nothing better to do. People walk by all day. We watch them sometimes, but they don’t see us. Not really. We’re like part of the bench itself. It’s like that to the druggies too. I’m surprised that guy you took down stopped by me today. I’ve seen him before, with his expensive leather coat and gap-toothed grin. He strides through the square like he owns it and never sees anyone. I’m sure you’ve done it too.” Fisher hazarded a glance at JD. “Not that you’ve done anything wrong. It’s not like I’m the most memorable person.”

“I saw you yesterday, twice. So I don’t think I fall into that category.” JD sounded miffed.

“Okay.” He didn’t want to argue, but Fisher knew he was right. He was forgettable and easy to write off and put away. Don’t look at Fisher and he’ll just go away. And that’s what had happened with his family and the people who had once been in his life. They’d stopped looking, and he’d in effect gone away.

Author Information:

Andrew grew up in western Michigan with a father who loved to tell stories and a mother who loved to read them. Since then he has lived throughout the country and traveled throughout the world. He has a master’s degree from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and works in information systems for a large corporation.

Andrew’s hobbies include collecting antiques, gardening, and leaving his dirty dishes anywhere but in the sink (particularly when writing) He considers himself blessed with an accepting family, fantastic friends, and the world’s most supportive and loving partner. Andrew currently lives in beautiful, historic Carlisle, Pennsylvania.

This week we are featuring a Romance, Science Fiction and Fantasy author Jenn Nixon. Lets hear from her directly about her favorite cocktail:

My characters drink much more than I do. I’ve never really warmed up to the taste of alcohol. If it doesn’t takes like alcohol, I’m more likely to drink it. One of my favorite drinks is the Jolly Rancher-Jenn Style. I make it with Sour Apple Schnapps, Peach Schnapps, Cranberry Juice and a splash of Orange Juice. I make mine on the light side, so they never really do anything but give me a slight buzz. LOL

Most of my characters like wine. Why? No clue. I hate it. It’s possible that someone will crack open a beer, too, and I know that Lucky likes Gin and tonic. I try to remember that other people DO like to drink when I’m creating my characters, it helps make them realistic to me. I think the next character I create will be more like me and not drink at all or very rarely at special occasions like Weddings and parties! J

Thanks for having me on your blog, Eden!

1 oz. Sour Apple Pucker schnapps

1 oz. peach schnapps

4 oz. cranberry juice

splash of orange juice

Combine all ingredients in a shaker with ice, and shake until icy cold. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. You can garnish with a slice of apple, or a lemon wheel

Now that we heard from the author, lest grab a glass of this delicious sounding Jenn style- Jolly Rancher and indulge in an excerpt from her “Lucky” book series. In particular from “Lucky’s Charm.”

Excerpt:

August 14

Nevada

Through a small gap in the grimy motel curtains, Lucky watched Conrad Andersen pull a hooker over his lap and playfully spank her ass. The woman shook her bleached head and kicked her legs in false protest, shaking the entire bed. She slithered against his portly belly and gave him an exaggerated kiss before vanishing from the scope.

Andersen wiped his mouth, and traces of bright red lipstick smeared across his face. Frowning, he got up and moved out of view.

Two hundred yards away, Lucky shifted on the rooftop, using the free time to ease the tension built up after an hour-long stakeout. First, a stretch and twist sideways popped a few vertebrae. Flexing both hands and then rotating both ankles brought the circulation back.

Wonder if military snipers do this shit when stalking a target.Doubt any of them ever had to endure an Olympic, Viagra-induced sexcapade.

Lucky eased back into position just in time to see Andersen appear in the rifle’s scope again. Even with the obstructed view into the room, she saw him dressed in a blue pinstriped suit with a white shirt. A decent-looking older man but knowing everything he’d done made him vile enough to eliminate.

The woman reappeared and gathered her belongings off the ratty nightstand. The lights dimmed; Lucky took deep breaths to maintain a slow, steady heart rate.

Lucky directed the scope three feet to the right and targeted ten inches below the top of the motel room’s door frame: the perfect height to hit the man. Once she had a clear shot, the window of opportunity would last five seconds. She already calculated the wind factor, distance, and bullet drop. The door opened. Lucky let out one last breath and then counted in her head.

One.The hooker emerged laughing.

Andersen appeared and draped his arm around the woman’s shoulders. Two.

She glanced up at him. Three. Lucky eased the crosshairs of the scope on his head.

Four. He leaned down and kissed his escort.

The mark lifted his head to search the parking lot.

In the fifth second, the bullet penetrated his skull. His eyes popped upon exit. Pink bits of his brain spattered on the door behind him. Andersen’s body slumped against the door frame.

The hooker’s scream filled the air. Other rooms instantly sprang to life with commotion. A dog even barked in the distance.

The remnants of his face stared back into the scope, confirming the kill.

Burn in hell, bastard.

The brass catcher on the rifle trapped the bullet casing. Lucky removed the silencer and popped off the shoulder stock. Then she packed the Heckler and Koch MSG90 in the trombone-shaped case in record time.

She rolled up the blanket and surveyed the roof for noticeable evidence before slipping down the side of the house. The quiet development she found behind the motel provided excellent cover. However, the occupants and their neighbors might be home any moment, and she had to move.

Lucky pulled the worn French beatnik beret down her forehead before weaving through the backyard. She hopped over the fence of the adjoining property, emerging on Margo Drive. She walked the length of the street, listening for any sign of the police behind her.

Though her heart pumped as if she just rode a roller coaster, she felt completely at ease. Yet another sign she’d been doing this job too long. Less than a mile from the scene and she didn’t have a stitch of worry about the cops catching her.

She was getting thatgood at killing.

Rounding the corner, Lucky noticed a young girl crying in front of a makeshift lemonade stand that her father was tearing down. The dollar sign, forgotten on the parched grass, had drops of tears streaking through the lettering. She slowed, feeling her stomach tighten as the sobs grew louder.

“We’ll try again tomorrow, honey,” the father said, ruffling the girl’s blonde head.

“But I dinnit sell anything, Daddy,” she squeaked.

Lucky had thirty seconds, maybe less, before someone called about Andersen. Response time in Vegas, at dusk, was never routine. Even if LVPD arrived within the next two minutes, she’d be long gone. She had to walk past them. Can’t let the poor girl go to bed sad and disappointed. Lucky knew how that felt. Fishing out two dollars from her jeans, she approached the stand.

“I need something to drink,” she said, clutching the trombone case tightly, her attention on the child “Think I can have one before you close?”

“Really?” The girl’s eyes bugged wide like little swimming pools.

“Get a cup, Daisy,” the father suggested and glanced up from his work on the wooden stand. The kid filled the cup all the way to the rim and decorated the lip with two cut lemons.

“I made it myself,” she announced proudly.

Lucky took the cup, guzzled half, and smiled. “Ahh, that’s very good lemonade.” She placed the two dollars in the girl’s hand. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you,” the father and daughter said simultaneously. That fatherly tone warmed her for a moment, but she didn’t make eye contact.

A minute after finishing her lemonade, Lucky found her rental car on Pacyna Street. The smell of Vegas, sex, booze, and money lingered in the air. Streetlights sparkled, waiting for the last of the sunlight to vanish from the horizon.

Lucky opened the trunk, secured the case, and slipped into the car. She sighed. Her boss wanted her to get rid of the sniper rifle despite pleas to keep the weapon for sentimental value. She knew he was right; she used the execution method several times. Still, it was a great gun—one she had for years—and she hated to melt it down.

Sirens screamed in the distance, breaking into her head. Not wanting to push her luck any further by sticking around, she took off, traveled south to E. Tropicana Avenue, and picked up her cell phone when she turned onto the main drag.

“It’s done,” she said while checking the rearview mirror. “Our boy had a thing for working girls, apparently.”

“Leave the package where I told you, he’ll take care of it for us. I’ll see you when you land, okay?” the man on the other end replied.

“Sure, Phen. Tell Bet she owes me dinner.”

“She does? Why?” He huffed. “Don’t tell me you two are wagering over your jobs.”

“No, she owes me because I told her you’d make me get rid of Heckle today.”

“Don’t be sore, you still have the other rifle.”

“Yeah, yeah. Talk to ya.” Lucky clicked off the phone. Annoyed and physically high from the adrenaline rush, she went to drop off her weapon at the butcher’s lock box, hoping to find a way to work through the pending madness that followed her jobs.

* * * *

Two days later, Lucky Fascino sat at the back of the plane, flipping through the complimentary magazine. She smiled up at the male flight attendant when he stopped the beverage cart.

“Drinks?” he asked.

“Gin and tonic, thanks,” she said.

“Make it two,” her neighbor added.

Her row mate, a pink-skinned, gray-haired man, had curiosity etched on his face. Next to Lucky, any Caucasian looked pale so she understood their interest. Being naturally bronzed, due in part to an unknown, mixed heredity, gave her an all-year color most women would kill to have. As part of her normally disguised travels, she hid her curly, honey-brown hair and slight almond-shaped, amber eyes—now considered exotic instead of strange—behind a jet-black wig and brown contacts.

Talking to a stranger was the last thing she wanted to do. Getting far away from the job was the only thing on her mind. She’d been in Vegas for nine days, watching the target, learning his habits, hangouts, and daily rituals. During the last five, she’d seen him with three women in two different motels.

Gotta love Vegas.

Afterward, she had worked off the adrenaline high from the job in the hotel gym, while waiting for news of the target’s death. It came in the form of a small article in the local newspaper. The city had well over a hundred murders so far this year. One more, under seedy circumstances, didn’t get much attention.

The man beside her tried to make conversation while she nursed her drink. Mundane chitchat mostly. I really don’t care where you live.It was natural for normal people to want some type of contact to ease the boring flight. Thanks to her second cocktail, she felt more social. Besides, she didn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t shut up.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Frank asked after the exchange of names and destinations.

Kill people like you.Well, she didn’t really kill people like him, unless he had some sordid history of crime. Unlike Andersen, who used his corporate success to embezzle, commit fraud, and murder, Frank seemed like just another guy.

“I’m the Comptroller for an international furniture company.” Lucky watched the man’s eyes glaze over when she described what she did for “work.” Accountant types never impressed anyone. During long jobs, she made up a personal history and itinerary to go along with whichever fake ID she used for cases like this. Today she played Lucille Summers from Baltimore, Maryland. It was one part of the job she still enjoyed.

“Sounds lucrative.” He rubbed the side of his gin-reddened face and covertly tried to ogle her legs. “In Vegas for business or pleasure?” The way he enunciated the latter made her skin crawl. She wouldn’t give him the time of day if he were the last man on the planet able to donate sperm to keep the species alive.

“Business meetings, you know how it goes, have to get those fiscal reports in order for the CFO,” she said, smiling, mostly to suppress the gag reflex.

He laughed, continually eyeballing her and gabbing about his trip. The trite, one-sided conversation continued until the plane began its descent.

To protect her family and find a killer, Felicia “Lucky” Fascino assumed her adoptive father’s identity and joined the network of moral assassins to finish the job he began. Eliminating the man responsible for murdering her mother has consumed her for the last five years. Completing the job is the only way Lucky and her family can return to a safe and normal life. Lucky’s uncle, Stephen Chambers, hasn’t come close to tracking the killer. He announces he’s stepping down as her handler to concentrate on the investigation and names Elizabeth, his daughter, as successor.

Keeping secrets is a family trait, and Elizabeth’s addition to the business tests Lucky’s ability to maintain the pretense that the job doesn’t affect her despite the fact that all network hits are hardened criminals. While keeping her family at arm’s length, Lucky begins to feel the weight of her career choice and reclusive lifestyle. Then a chance encounter with an enigmatic hit man during one of her jobs turns into a provocative and dangerous affair. Distracted by the secret trysts with Kenji Zinn and mounting tension within her family, Lucky starts to make mistakes that threaten her livelihood and almost claim her life. When her family is targeted, Lucky must make several rash decisions she believes can save them and preserve her own sanity.

Author’s Bio:

Jenn often adds a thriller and suspense element to anything she writes be it Romance, Science Fiction, or Fantasy. When not writing, she spends her time reading, observing pop culture, playing with her two dogs, and working on various charitable projects in her home state of New Jersey.

You can learn more here. You can also follow Jenn on Facebook and on Twitter @JennNixon

My favorite drink is Native Flora Rosé, Jolly Ranger, which tastes like summer in a bottle and drinks well with a deck on a Friday afternoon.

Rosé, “The Jolly Rancher”, is a unique blend of Pinot Noir and Pinot Blanc, with just a touch of Malbec, all grown on Native Flora estate. The three grapes are co-fermented, not blended after fermentation. As a result, the cherry and berry notes of the Pinot Noir are infused with tones of pink grapefruit and melon from the Pinot Blanc, while the Malbec lends a unique aromatic and finish. Crisp acidity and a long finish are hallmarks of this fun, near-cult status favorite.

So let us relax with a glass of this fine wine and learn more about book 2 of the Kiss of the Jinni Hunter Series:

No matter how far we are in the future, everything connects us to our past….

Homeland Security Special Agent Eliana Solomon is on a mission to prevent terrorist attacks. Hard enough to do when the threats are human, almost impossible when it’s an evil, shape shifting jinni. Eliana needs help so she calls the sexy and beguiling psychiatrist, Arta Shahani. However, no matter how good he is at his job, the man is on her blacklist. On their last case together, the guy left her for dead.
Arta is stunned when he receives Eliana’s call. Forced to abandon the woman he loves, he now fears she won’t accept his shape-shifting skills as a Persian Lion. Eliana, in the meantime discovers she is a direct descendant of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba with special powers of her own. But will her skill and Arta’s be enough to defeat the jinni, or will they lose the love history decreed for them as well as their lives in this battle of good versus evil?

Book 2 in the Kiss of the Jinni Hunter Series

This full length novel is the second new Kiss of the Jinni Hunter series from Sharon Buchbinder. Edgy and suspenseful, this paranormal romance series explores diverse cultures and an array of supernatural beings. Join the Special Agents of the Anomaly Defense Division as they race to save humanity—and the people they love.

After working in health care delivery for years, Sharon Buchbinder became an association executive, a health care researcher, and an academic in higher education. She had it all–a terrific, supportive husband, an amazing son and a wonderful job. But that itch to write (some call it an obsession) kept beckoning her to “come on back” to writing fiction. Thanks to the kindness of family, friends, critique partners, and beta readers, she is published in contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and romantic suspense–as well as textbooks! When not attempting to make students, colleagues, and babies laugh, she can be found herding cats, walking her dogs, fishing, cooking, dining, and laughing with family and friends, or writing.